


Nynaeve's Oral S... Dicipline

by gqsa



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Abuse, Aes Sedai, Angst, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, BBC, BLESSED, Big black cock, Blow Job, Braid - Freeform, Bukkake, Collar, Comic, Cuckolding, Deepthroat, Defeated, Dog - Freeform, Doggy Style, Drenched, Embarrassment, Exposition, F/M, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Facial, Fanart, Female Domination, Fingering, Forced Sex, Furry, Gangbang, Grooming, Groping, Hand Job, Horse cock, Humiliation, Kink, Limes and lemons, Lust, Masochist, Masturbation, Naive, Objectification, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Orgy, Pee, Porn With Plot, Pre cum, Precum, Rape, Regret, Revenge Sex, Sexual Content, Squirt - Freeform, Stroking, Taboo, Tricked, Used, White Tower, Wisdom, Word Porn, beastiality, belly bulge, brunette, christened, cum, cum dump, dark smut, defiled, dildo, doe eyed, dog chain, dog girl, duped, gagging, gender based abuse, load, nubile, ogier, prank, prankster, sadist, self discovery, semen - Freeform, swallow, taken advantage off, tar valon, throating, virgin, women's circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26281765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gqsa/pseuds/gqsa
Summary: Becoming apprentice to the village Wisdom granted Nynaeve respect amongst some, but disobedience from most. That was going to change, so help her, it was. Good thing she found a new method of reprimand.FINAL CHAPTERHey! As usual, join the discussion down below with what you liked/disliked. Leave a kudos, especially if you have to wash you hands. And feel free to let me know what you'd like to see in this work or in future!
Relationships: Nynaeve al'Meara/Bran al'Vere, Nynaeve al'Meara/Lan Mandragoran, Nynaeve al'Meara/Loial son of Arent son of Halan, Nynaeve al'Meara/Mat Cauthon, Nynaeve al'Meara/Rand al'Thor
Comments: 36
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

Nynaeve Al'Meara marched through Emond's Field, fuming. Only two weeks since she’d set an example and the boys were back to their pranks. They were going to learn. They must be cowering in their boots at the Al'Vere in, awaiting her arrival and reprimand. Why they couldn't just listen to her and behave... Gah, she'd never know!

She had come into the position of village Wisdom apprentice younger than any girl. Fourteen, mind. That granted her respect amongst some, but disobedience from most.

Especially the boys, even though she'd been an apprentice a whole year now. She was practically a Wisdom already. She was even taller than some of the boys! The woolheaded fools made fun of her frustrated braid pulling—which was a totally natural thing to do—but came running to _her_ when they got a booboo, instead of going to the actual Wisdom of the Two Rivers, Mistress Doral Barran.

Rightfully so; Nynaeve's skill with herbs was unmatched. With the same recipes, she could heal up to ten times faster than anyone else. She was a natural. Too bad she wasn't a natural at making people listen.

A slight girl wasn't intimidating enough for them.

But Nynaeve had discovered a secret. Accidently, but the boys would never know that. She was in total control, as far as they were concerned. Two weeks ago, when a scamp named Matrim Cauthon tried to prank her, he didn't realise he was about to give away a weapon far greater than the switch.

***

Two weeks ago, a stray foot caught Nynaeve’s ankle. Cursing, she toppled over face first into the culprit's crotch. Furious, she prepared to yell, but stopped when she saw the look in his face. Pain, but more importantly, stunned silence.

Matrim Cauthon. Silent. The fool boy hadn't worn proper pants, so the loose buttons revealed something hardening beneath the surface.

The boy quickly tried to cover it with his hands.

His weakness. Nynaeve had seen it. She batted his hands away and yanked the penis out.

It had grown larger than she thought possible—she'd only heard of such things whispered of by older girls—so it hit her across the cheek and lips.

It smelled like wet dog and made her cringe. But Matrim was shaking. He almost looked excited, but Nyneave knew it was fear. She had him now.

Wrapping her fingers around the thing with a tight grip of reprimand, she said with a smirk, "You don't like this, do you young man?"

Matrim's stunned expression only intensified. "Don't like it?" His thing got harder—my, what a _heat_ in her hand it it became—and he shivered more. "Uhm... yeah. I... uhm, of course. I totally hate it. Please stop. Let go of me."

She definitely had him now. Trying to look as intimidating as possible, she said “No,” as she leaned in. The motion slid her hand to the base of his length, pulling his foreskin all the way back, exposing a bulbous, throbbing thing.

The shaft quivered in her hand. Fear. So, she kept that stroking motion going. Some clear fluid slowly oozed from the widening slit atop his boyhood. It leaked out and over her fingers, warm and slick, giving her motions sloppy sounds. She tried to stroke it into silence, but it only got louder and messier. Light, his thing was as wide as her wrist now. Matrim was going to be a very big boy.

He swallowed hard. "Oh no..." he said, looking sideways. "How could I let this happen? At least you're not using your mouth—"

He cut himself off, covering his mouth with his hands. It looked like bad acting, his penis somehow throbbed faster, and his shaking resembled nervous anticipation.

No. He was trembling before her. Nynaeve was just doubting herself. This is what the woman's circle must mean when they say they have their husbands by the balls. Definitely.

He didn't want mouth, huh? Everyone knew what a big mouth Nynaeve had, even herself. This use of it seemed kind of disgusting, but just look at him shake. This was a way to power as an upcoming Wisdom.

So, stroking harder, her free hand grabbed Matrim by the balls, and she dove down, plunging his penis into her mouth, silencing her sloppy sounds from her hands and replacing it with that of her lips. His thing was a weight upon her tongue. It was smooth and warm—so warm—and tasted less like wet carpet and more like stale gravy.

Matrim threw his head back. "Oh blood and ashes she actually did it!”

"Language!" her tongue struggled to say. It scraped against the shapely underside of his exposed head—

Matrim went stiff.

And something unloaded into her mouth. Strong, intermittent squirts. Pee? Gross!

She tried to pull back from the hot onslaught on her upper palate, but was held in place. Matrim's hands were in her hair, keeping his penis firmly against the roof of her open mouth.

"Oh!” Matrim said. _Squirt._ “I mean _Ow_ , Nynaeve! How could you do this, it hurts so much!" _Squirt, squirt._ "I promise to never play tricks again! I'm, uh... so sorry!" _Squirt_.

So much fluid filled her mouth.

Were his hips going back and forth? Pulling in and out of her? The boy had really lost it. Lost his bad behaviour that was. He even apologised! This was a perfect method of reprimand.

But there was no way she could use it on others again, not with the risk of them peeing in her mouth... Actually, it wasn't pee. It was thick, runny. Pee would have gushed out through her lips. This congealed around her gums and teeth, smooth and soft. Like milkshake. If the penis tasted like stale gravy, this was fresh gravy. She ate it.

"Oh good Lord," Matrim said, and squirted again. Then, he collapsed back.

Nynaeve swallowed the last bite and pulled the softening penis from her mouth. The naughtiest boy in the Two Rivers showed fear, remorse, and went to sleep quietly. Yes, this was very effective indeed. She had a feeling Matrim would never cross her again. She got out her herbs and healed any damage she might have caused.

***

Two weeks later, Nynaeve was trying to figure out why the boys of the Two Rivers’ behaviour had gotten _worse_. Even Matrim Cauthon! It baffled her mind. Had he forgotten her punishment?

She'd not let him forget. She marched across the village tugging her braid, wearing her discipline dress—one that got the boys to shut up when she walked by. It was rather tight and her bosom was near falling out, but it garnered obedience. Today, she'd seal in that obedience once in for all, by disciplining all those boys, Matrim's friends and friends of friends, who had started pranking more these last two weeks. She felt bad for them, but she was going to have to teach them the lesson Matrim failed to learn that day.

She arrived at the Al'Vere Inn and greeted Egwene's parents on her way to the reserved hall. Egwene waited outside for her. The pretty little girl was dressed in a regular Two Rivers woolens—she was too small for a discipline dress.

Nynaeve spared the girl niceties and opened the door.

"Don't go too hard on them," Egwene pleaded. "Even Rand is in there."

This girl would be walked on one day if she stayed that soft. Nynaeve was not here to hold back. Or waste time. Dozens of boys were sitting here. Many of whom had _never_ pulled a prank before. Strange that. What had changed?

Her eyes sought out the answer to that question. The trouble maker, Matrim Cauthon. If she didn’t teach him the right way to behave, what kind of man would he become?

She stomped to him, giving stares to Rand and Perrin at his sides. He, they, and the rest of the boys trembled.

That really did look more like nervous excitement than fear… But she knew that was just her self-doubt talking. She needed more confidence to be intimidating. As she walked, she puffed out her chest like men did. All shuffling in the room stopped. All eyes turned to her, even Rand, who had been looking at Egwene. The boys were so scared, none of them could look Nynaeve in the eyes. Their gazes were lower.

Good. Confidence always grabbed attention. She puffed her chest out more, careful not to let her breasts fall out. A Wisdom still had decency to uphold. Now, on to making a proper example out of Matrim, before disciplining the rest.

"Take notes," Nynaeve told the young Egwene. You're going to be my apprentice one day.

Egwene nodded, but gave Rand a sympathetic look. She knew he was going to get it. Rand, on the other hand, was looking at Nynaeve, quivering. He was one of those who wasn't much of a prankster. But, recently, all of a sudden, he was frightening girls and flipping skirts. In plain sight of Nynaeve!

She'd get to him.

Nyneave dropped to her knees before Matrim's chair and yanked down his pants.

Boys shuffled and murmured. "She’s really doing it!" one whispered loudly.

She scowled and shushed, and he ran back to his place. Perfect. She was already getting more respect.

Matrim's penis rose up and stared her in the face. Clear fluid leaked out and dripped down the shaft. She grabbed it--he made a frightened 'oh' sound--and she wiped the wetness off, picking out a loose pube caught in the foreskin. Truly strange anatomy men had. Fascinating, of course from a medical perspective, but Light, she could not imagine one of these things between her legs. Did it just dangle there, bouncing around as they walked? That would be so distracting. No wonder they couldn't think about anything else. It would make peeing convenient, though.

“Ny...” Egwene started saying, struggling to speak for some reason, wide eyes staring at the penis.

"Watch closely," Nynaeve said as she wrapped her fingers around him and began her reprimanding strokes. His leak refused to stop. Still stroking, she wiped him again with her freehand, but the stuff still dripped down and laced her fingers, making it hard for her to grip and keep pulling back the skin. Her hands slid down instead. Bother. His eyes were closed, though, in regret, so it was still working. Regret or no, she would not let him off the hook. Giving up on the leak, she grabbed with both her hands and let her increased stroking show her disapproval of his bad behaviour.

Her two handed pumping motion was rewarded with more quivering from Matrim, and the swelling of his penis. She had to be careful not to hurt it, or to let her chest fall out of her dress. Her arms were pressing her girls together, and each wank saw her dress wriggle down little by little.

Egwene seemed to notice the problem, and she held the dress up from the back. Good girl. She'd made a good assistant one day. As for the other problem of hurting Matrim, Nynaeve's lips were gentler than her hands.

She plunged his entire length into her mouth. It hit the back of her throat and she coughed. Keeping that same pace of stroking with her face was hard, but this method was working, and she was never one to shy away from hard work.

Egwene's hands trembled in Nynaeve's armpits as if she wanted to let go of the dress and bolt. Nyneave reassured her that she was okay by working harder. GLUCK uk GLOCK!

Matrim's hands weaved through her hair, gripping. For some strange reason, him doing that while she was bent over like this felt kinda… nice. When strangeness rained, it poured.

"Oh no,” he said. “How ever could I have let this happen again?"

Was he grinning? It sounded like that, but that couldn't be it. Not while she was reprimanding him. She sped up for good measure, but still wished she could look up to check his face for a grin. She couldn't—his grip was oh so strong on her head, gyrating it in circles—but from the side of her eye, she could check to see if Egwene was paying attention.

Egwene was pale. "N—Nynaeve... Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Discipline," she said, though her tongue struggled to speak against the penis in her mouth. Matrim had started to do the back and forth thing with his hips again. She didn't get mad, though. It was only natural to try and escape reprimand, and for the most part he was facing it head on. All the motion between his hips and her head were starting to make her dizzy, and feel strange in… unmentionable places.

"You're..." Egwene said, blushing furiously. Light, why didn't the girl just use her words? She really needed to catch a wake up. "You're..." she continued, "performing oral sex on Mat."

No way. Matrim hated this. How can something he hated be sex? Sex was something boys loved. All they thought about was that thing dangling between their legs. They'd do anything for sex.

Anything...

Matrim's sudden apologies two weeks ago.

The boys' sudden increase in pranks.

The trembling _was_ nervous excitement.

He'd tricked her into thinking this was punishment...

She forced her head up a little and looked to Matrim. That mischievous grin was plastered on his face.

Nynaeve's cheeks heated, and not just from fury. It was time for _her_ to blush furiously. She was performing oral sex on a boy. His penis was in her mouth!

"Take it out!" she shouted, trying to pull back, but her moving tongue spoke against that solid mass in her face, and she felt the thing contract. Matrim Cauthon defiled the future village Wisdom's mouth a second time, this time for all the future men of the village to see.

She was so embarrassed, she just knelt there, still as loads and loads of hot filmy stuff shot into her mouth and splashed across her face, leaking onto her bosom. It seeped into her cleavage and stained her dress. It felt icky to her skin. Semen. It was semen. From _inside_ Matrim. From his _balls_ , through his _dick_. _Eww..._

When Matrim finished, she just swallowed, defeated, and his prankster grin set of a round of cheers in the room. It set everyone off, and she was soon the centre of all those boys fighting for turns in her face. Their penises all tasted the same, but no one's seed tasted like anothers. They doused her in countless shots of hot wetness, and Egwene finally lost her nerve, leaving Nynaeve's dress and running from the room screaming. Nynaeve's breasts fell out, much to the boys' groping delight, and Egwene's parents came to find Nynaeve as a drenched, sticky mess, braid so heavy with seed, it was tugging her head without her tugging it.


	2. Masochist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me, do you like naive Nynaeve, or sexually-awakened Nynaeve?

Nynaeve waited at the back of a barn.

She'd failed in her task of reining in the troublesome youths of the Two Rivers and the wisdom was not pleased. A disgrace, she'd called Nynaeve, and the Al'Veres hadn't even told her what Nynaeve had done in her attempt to discipline the boys. That little pipsqueak Egwene had been right. The boys did indeed enjoy Nynaeve's discipline. They were masochists, every one. Any adult knew that sex wasn't sex unless it was a moment shared between lovers. Anything else would be torture. Those boys enjoyed torture. It was the only explanation.

So Nynaeve had found a middle ground. They liked her beating their meat, so she would not do that. No chance. She was not a Light-blinded fool. Instead, she would combine the torture of passionless intimacy with something they hated: Nynaeve herself. That should make them regret their masochistic ways. It was working. Not a prank to be had this last week, all because Nynaeve came to the back of this barn daily and disciplined them.

Voices trickled in from around the corner, and soon, several boys followed. Rand and nine others. They didn't waste any time. Like good boys who bent over and took their punishment, they came at her. Hands ravaged her body, and despite her familiarity with being touched by now, she still gasped as they grasped her crotch and breasts through her dress. She leaned back against the barn, closing her eyes, enduring. Goosebumps rose across her skin and her nipples hardened—which Rand's cupped hand promptly noticed and pinched.

A sigh escaped Nynaeve's lips and moisture budded between her legs. She was not enjoying this. Intimacy without passion was not sex. This was discipline. Torture. For them _and_ her, for the sake of her fellow villagers. She would teach good behaviour if it was the last thing she did, giving the Two Rivers' next generation men they could be proud of—

Her skirts flew up and Rand ducked beneath. The other nine boys pushed and shoved their hands across her chest, waist, and backside as Rand pressed his face between her thighs. Nynaeve did _not_ moan. Even when a warm tongue stroked up her damp bits and thumbs parted her folds. She had forbade penetration, but had given leave for them to do with her as they pleased otherwise. She had to. Soon, doing this to someone they hated would mount to too much masochism for even them. The Light knew they were good boys at heart. She just had to beat goodness into the forefront.

Hands slipped into her collar and roughly clutched her breast, tugging this way and that. Another boy, not to be outdone, got through the crowd and shoved her dress into the crack between her bottom cheeks. She clenched, but he had already found her anus and was scraping the coarse fabric of her dress against it. Yes, she wore no shift to these sessions. These boys damaged good undergarments. Brutes. One idiot boy took off her slipper and played with her toes, pinching and pulling them before putting them into his mouth one at a time. He held onto her foot like it was a teat and sucked as if her soles had mother's milk to give.

A nibble, at her pelvis. It seemed Rand was done with whatever admiring he was doing down there. His teeth picked and pulled at her clit as if it were a flaming nipple. It hurt, but it wasn't as bad as the groping, and he soon moved on to lick between her folds, across all the sensitive openings of her womanhood. Heated shivers coarsed through her. Rand had gotten good at that—

What was she thinking?

The rough hands saw her dress slide down her shoulders, enough for her modest bosom to hang over the taut material. She gave them a stiff expression, but they ignored it and attacked her perky girls. She had said anything but penetration, so what could she do? Oh how they bit, squeezed, and pulled. The boys didn't have the delicacy Rand did. Slobber hit her face from their aggressive licking.

That somehow made her nipples even firmer, and she found that she was completely flushed and that her hips were rocking to the rhythm of Rand's licking. She stopped that, but the heat within did not recede, it was climbing, in fact, and she had never experienced it so—except perhaps that one night her fingers experienced a moment of weakness. Oh Light that warmth was all consuming, like the feeling she got when embracing her talent for healing. It wracked her nerves and curled her toes in the boy's mouth. She had to stop rand, but she could not—would not. His pressure strokes on her sex coupled with the sloppiness between her toes, the stroking of her ass, the massaging of her breasts, and those countless other hands upon her body doing with it as they pleased like it were the most wanted piece of meat in the land... the Two Rivers burst it's banks.

"Ew she's peeing on me!" Rand shouted, jerking back but her skirts trapped him.

She grabbed his head and pressed it back between her thighs. His cries turned to gargles, and her hips had began rocking again. Sensations of pure fire shook the nerves of her pussy and buckled her legs. She fell to her knees, dropping Rand onto his back. But Nynaeve didn't stop riding, even when the other boys had run away, even when her eruption ceased, even when all she was left with was that fire. Light! She was trembling with the ecstasy of it. Rand squirmed against her and she bucked again falling down on to her elbows.

Rand pulled out behind her and she only heard his footfalls vanish into the distance. She leaned there, still shaking, still... on fire.

Orgasming. She was cumming. From passionless intimacy.

And she didn't care.

Her fingers took over Rand's job and lit the flames a third time. Fourth. Fifth. Light, she could go on till the Wheel turned anew. And she didn't need a lover!

Sixth, seventh—she rolled amongst the leaves, limbs a tangle—eighth, ninth—

"Nynaeve!" a voice called.

In the fog of absolute pleasure, she found her hand performing a furious fanning motion. She also found the hefty village wisdom crouching over her.

"Light, child. What are you doing?" She grabbed Nynaeve's arms and yanked them away from her crotch.

The stroke lit Nynaeve a tenth time and a wide smile painted her face as another flood soaked her woolens. This one was a slow trickle, spreading through the material, warm, comforting. She had never felt so alive before. Her sex was so sensitive now, the trickle still felt like it was blasting out of a closed canal, and that pain was the most pleasurable thing Nynaeve had felt in her life. She was a masochist.

The masochist passed out.

***

Nynaeve woke in the wisdom's rooms, her crotch more numb than if she'd been given a double dose of twilfork root tea. She could feel the rest of her body, though, so that was not the case. Her mind felt equally numb. Drab. As if she'd known what it was like to feel alight with life and had forgotten. She dressed and left the room, her thighs complaining as she walked. The building was empty so she headed outside, towards her home. To her utter shock, she saw Rand and all the other boys helping out around the village. They politely waved at her as she passed and got back to their work. She frowned and continued on her way. Had her discipline finally worked? She had a discipline session yesterday but could only remember the boys coming around the corner. A gap in her memory. She shivered. But, as she glanced back at the well behaved young men, she knew that torturous experience had been worth it. She'd never have to do that again.

She pouted.

Why was she pouting?

Nynaeve shook her head and headed home, collapsing on her bed as soon as she arrived. She yawned, stretched, and let her hands fall back down. They landed on her hips. And she felt an urge to snake them lower, lower to stroke something that was no longer feeling numb.

Light, was she really going to stroke herself?

She did, and found that she _was_ going to. That single flick made her feel sensations of being alive once again. She was going to stroke herself a lot. _Whatever happened to my standards of passion?_ she thought. She found that those standards were now as non-existent as her ability to stop.


	3. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nynaeve takes great leaps in her quest to become village Wisdom
> 
> Again. A quicky. I find myself writing these in moments of inspiration when I really should be taking a break before getting back to work. Oh well. This time I held off and edited first, unlike other quickies. But edits often leave typos that need proofreading, and I'll have to do that another time. Thanks for sticking with my stories through that process! I hope you enjoy

Nynaeve saw that no matter how well she'd healed the men of the village, they never seemed fit and ready to go until she sucked their dicks. She did so, since she’d put in a lot of work making men realise that intimacy without love was nothing but regular contact. A healer had to use the tools at her disposal lest she be called negligent.

Emond's field functioned better than ever before. There was not a spec of work undone anywhere. Men worked hard when they were healthy. They all agreed with her. The strangest thing was that the women disagreed.

The same people who had constantly bitched about this and that their sons and husbands still needed to do. Marin Al'Vere was one of them. She watched with folded arms from the corner of her spotless inn as Nynaeve tended to her husband. He kept getting this same silly cut on his hand when fixing up the same faulty windows in his inn, and calling Nynaeve over. Why didn't he just replace those windows instead of trying and failing to fix them, and getting hurt in the process?

Nynaeve repaired the cut but Mr Al'Vere still looked a little down under. Without time to waste—she had to go to Cenn Buie next; the thatcher kept scratching himself up too these days in his old age—Nynaeve took out Mr Al'Vere's penis. It was already hard somehow. The women said it was because the men were sexually attracted to her, but what did those dried up hags know about sexual attraction? Emond's Fielders were just hard working; Mr Al'Vere wanted to get better as fast as possible so he could tend to his inn.

So Nynaeve took him into her mouth. She'd gotten really good over the last few months, and had learned what all kinds of men liked. Some liked tongue work; others lips, cheeks, or hands; and some... like Cenn, liked her breasts--she kept her dress on, of course, and worked him through that. She had each technique down to a science for each man, and could execute it in seconds. Here, she'd just need to position properly. She knelt a little more upright before Mr al'Vere so that she was looking down. Lowering herself, she was almost in place. When the penis pressed against her tonsils... There! Right at the place where it made her want to gag.

She slid straight down, and sat on her haunches, the motion sending the penis up into her throat, and then bending it forward. This wasn't some repetitive stroking—though some men did require vigorous stroking—that could be misconstrued as sexual. This was almost surgical. Like a lever, this simple throat plunge and forward bend was all Mr Al'Vere needed to clutch onto her head and start releasing his stress. She took it from him, as any good healer should. It was a little hard adjusting to the feeling of fluid going down her throat with a penis preventing her from swallowing, but if she didn't try to swallow, it went down easy. A win win, since her daily ministrations meant she barely ever felt hungry. Even Baelon had heard of her medical services, and days that she tended to them, she never even got hungry enough to require food.

Nynaeve slipped the penis out of her throat and mouth, then licked the foreskin clean. Couldn't leave the stuff on him, it would get smelly. Besides, she had committed to taking all of a patient's stress. So, with dilligence, she stuck her tongue out and slipped it up and around the head, under the skin, in and around.

The penis had been going flacid, but stopped and began hardening again.

Marin Al'Vere huffed and stalked out the room.

"You're still ailing, Mr Al'Vere?" Nynaeve asked.

"I'm afraid so," he said, still holding her head. His hands suddenly felt heavier.

There was nothing to be done. Nynaeve administered another suck. This time, the plunge and lever were not enough. Mr Al'Vere actually needed some vigorous stroking, so vigorous that it required him to help administer the treatment by shaking her head like a bag whose contents needed a good mixing.

He must have been in a worse state than she had initially diagnosed. Unacceptable. In the medical field, failure could mean death.

She put her tongue to work even though it wasn’t time for cleanup, and though the frantic use of her head made her dizzy, she paid attention for the moment he released his stress, and then she SUCKED, drawing the stress out from him instead of just letting it come. It made terrible sounds, what with the motions making it difficult to keep her lips sealed. Light her spit was going everywhere and messing the patient and his house.

When he was finally done, she fell back, reeling—so much so that a burp escaped her full belly—but unsteady as she was she crawled forward for her due diligence and cleaned up the area—

He hardened again.

Burn her couldn't she do anything right the first time? She sucked him off again, feeling a failure. She had to get this right fast else she was going to miss her next appointment. But Mr Al'Vere had a fourth round of stress, and a fifth, to release. Must be all those daughters of his.

She left the house tired as if it were the end of the day. It was still morning. She rubbed her tummy. It was so full. How would she manage to heal all her appointments today when she had no space? Today was a Baelon day, too. Several had come down, and she'd told them to wait at her home until her work day was done, she'd slot them in then. Such was the life of a healer. It was a wonder why only men got injured so regularly. They were just such woolheaded idiots, they messed up things they did on a daily basis. They couldn't do a thing without a woman to box their ears and keep them on the straight and narrow. She'd do that once she'd tended to them. Perhaps enough sessions would make them more careful, and she wouldn't have to take off so much of their stress.

Her stomach rumbled, unhappy that she'd overeaten.

Behind the next patient's house, she stuck her fingers into her throat, hoping to purge some of the stress. But her body ignored the attempts. Of course, only a thick penis could cause a gag reflex these days.

Nynaeve sighed and knocked on the patient's door. She never thought the road to becoming village wisdom would be easy.

By the end of the day, she ate so much, her body purged itself of the stress that bulged her belly. Swaths of white stuff erupted from her mouth into her sink. She coughed, wiped her lips, and got to work on the Baelon men. All twenty five of them. To get through all of them, she had to get on her knees and gather them around her at the same time. It still took so long, they only left her home at sunrise. She'd been on her knees so long, they were swollen. Her belly was bulging-full once again. She got up, rushing to the bathroom before she stressed her floors.

She cleaned her mouth, and dressed up—one of the men had a mental ailment where he couldn't trust anyone who had clothes on; he said he could never relax wondering if a knife lay beneath. After so many failures that day, she couldn't afford another. So despite the other twenty four men there, she'd stripped and taken care of the man. Things had gotten so busy after that, she never got the chance to get off her knees and put clothes back on. Especially with all the men getting so dizzy and falling atop her. One's penis had almost slipped all the way into her vagina, but other men helped him up and told him, "Watch yourself. We have a good thing going here. Don't ruin it."

A little mean, since it was _her_ job to watch them, especially ones like that without their faculties. She worked extra hard to heal him and take his stress.

Clothes on, she grabbed her bag of herbs and set out for the day, not having slept. Outside her house were twenty some odd more men from Baelon. And twenty others she never seen before. Whitebridge they said. Word of her skill had reached so far…

She was not going to be able to do this one patient at a time, was she?

She gathered all today's Emond's field patients at her house and dealt with them like she had the men from last night. It was shocking how even people she regularly treated had the anti-clothes trust ailment. She had never realised it before. They must have been so stressed during all her previous treatments.

She stripped, gathered them around, got onto her sore knees, and took their stress. She was shocked again when she realised how many she thought were mostly fit and healthy, but were really so ill, they could hardly control their faculties. Even Mr Al'Vere slipped once and found his penis almost in her vagina.

These two ailments were also in the Baelon group she treated midday and the Whitebridge group she treated in the late afternoon so this rampant bug must be spreading.

She would get to the bottom of it. She started working from home after that day, since this process allowed her to study these ailments and get some sleep even with the large amount of clients she had. Plus it allowed her not to bother putting on clothes, since she'd have to take them off anyway.

She found another ailment amongst the men the following day. She called it pincer, because it made the men's hands randomly grab anything they could squeeze. Sucking didn't take these ailments away, in fact, their pincer only got worse as she did.

But she had a breakthrough the next day when Mr Al'Vere had one of his lapses in his faculties and he'd fallen atop her. His penis had gone all the way into Nynaeve's vagina this time. The other men hadn't managed to get him off her before he released his hot, hot stress in there. Light, how would she get that stuff out? He'd deposited his seed in her, the same stuff that made Egwene and her sisters.

But his pincer ended. His faculties completely returned. She tried that treatment on every other man, and like magic, they had been healed. That night she started planting contraceptive leaf in her womb. It was hard to do on her own, so she taught her understudy, Egwene, how to guide tweezers up through the cervix without too much blood. Good thing, because from that day on, some needed a second or third vaginal ministration. She grew so sore, but it cured pincer like a miracle. She had no idea why she had fought back against the first time with Mr Al'Vere, forcing him to clutch her hands behind her back as he basically healed himself.

Well, he didn't heal himself. It was her body. And she put that body to work, earning her healing fame all the way to Shienar. Emond's Field became better known for Nynaeve the Healer than Two Rivers Tabac.

She worked day and night often, but soon, she was going to be the best Wisdom Emond's field had ever known.

She opened her door, letting in some fifty Shienarans, who looked shocked that she was naked. Light how they gawked. It must be a shock and relief to finally find a healer who understood how clothes stressed them.

She sorted out their cuts and bruises, then got on her knees and crawled around, pulling out their penises one by one. She sucked out some of their stress, and found that nearly all suffered from pincer and a weakness in the faculties. When they slipped and fell atop her, she gave them an understanding look and spread her legs. His penis was going to push against her vagina anyway.

He looked at her with utter shock, but plunged himself into her and humped himself into sanity. When the rest had been healed, they'd humped her into oblivion. Countless times this treatment had made her lose her own faculties, losing control of her body and shaking violently. But she got back to work right after, and that was what was important. She kind of enjoyed it, too. It was the most fulfilling work she'd ever done. And it was just that. Work. Not sex. Look at all the ailments she managed and cured.

Whoever said these acts were sexual must be looking at that evidence now and eating their words.


	4. An Ogier's Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New ailments bring new challenges, but sometimes those challenges are worth the pain. Especially if it's caused by one so large as Loial

"Mr al'Vere," Nynaeve said, looking back. "Has the pain eased, or do I need to bend deeper?"

"Oh, that's just perfect— I mean I think it's starting to ease. Let me see." He began to feel for pain along his penis, up and down, up and down. He was being _quite_ thorough. "Yes, I think it might start easing yet. Hold it right there."

She felt so exposed like this, naked, bum in the air, leaning against the wall with everyone looking at her. She'd been seen before, yes—and this was just medical work—but she had been distracted by engaging with her clients before. Now, with this new visual bug going around, she stood bare and had nothing to distract her from her... shame. She knew this was work, as the patients knew this was medicine, but she was still a girl. She'd went and foolishly shaved herself, and now it was a fight not to bring her knees together and scratch the irritated skin.

She could not do that. Firstly, it would bring attention to the shaven privates, which might make the men realise she'd done it out of shame. Some might feel that she was sexualising their treatment, and they could feel harassed. Secondly, scratching would distract the men from the visual engagement they needed to keep their sight. The new bug did more than cause erectile pain that required deep massaging and stroking to weed out. This bug also caused visual impairment, and that would not do. Each man seemed to regain their sight upon seeing something or the other—generally parts of her; actually _only_ parts of her, as well as her doing certain things at certain angles.

She might get cramps, and she might feel embarrassed, but no one had gone blind yet—not a one—and nothing was more rewarding than successfully keeping your patients healthy.

"Just lift that heel up a bit more," Cenn Buie said. "Onto the balls of your feet you go."

"Sorry about that," Nynaeve said, standing up onto her toes.

Cenn Buie watched her soles stretch and he stroked himself harder, feeling for whether his pain had eased.

"Has your pain—" she began to ask, but an Ogier at the back named Loial spoke with her.

"I'm sure that little piece of rubber can go deeper," his rumbling voice said. He'd come from up north with this large piece of rubber that caused him crippling fear. She'd tried to cure him with her leading methods, but she could not fit him into her mouth, vagina, or anus. But he'd told her that if she could conquer all of the rubber, he would surely overcome his fear. Well, it had taken her a week to be able to take all of it and that still hadn't healed him. She had tried to admit him into her anus then, and though he could almost fit that time somehow, it hadn't worked. He told her to keep "training" with that massive piece of rubber, perhaps eventually it would help him. She obliged, because it seemed that since arriving, her lack of aptitude led him to pick up the sight-loss bug, and watching her admit all of that rubber kept him from losing his sight.

Presently, she slipped most of that thick black mass in, and a squeezed-out groan escaped her lips as she forced the last bit so that the rubber's two bulbs at the end hit her ass. Those bulbs looked a lot like scrotum. She loved coincidences.

What the ogier loved was apparently the bulging navel caused by the rubber. He made a sound that resembled a neigh and stroked his gargantuan cock. Light, she hoped that he was healed with just this rubber going into her.

"I need to see you dominate that rubber," Loial said. "If you can't, I have no chance. Take it, and take it again. Make it look easy."

Nynaeve felt her skin heat, redden.

_Stop sexualising everything, Nynaeve!_

Without letting herself wander into absurd thoughts, she pulled the rubber as far out as her arm would allow—which was not much; the rubber was not just thick, it was _long_ , too. It coiled out of her until her belly flattened. And then she slid it back.

"Faster!" Cenn Buie and numerous other men called. "And stay on the balls of your feet!"

Nynaeve rose, and pushed the rubber in. With the faster motion, she felt it go sideways in her, up towards her left ribs, and then back inward to ward her sternum. In and out, the bulge in her belly made a 'C' shape as it pushed out her navel to upper abdomen and back.

She started making sounds. Involuntary groans that she only made when healing ailments such as pincer and the loss of faculties.

"Faster! Faster!" Chants grew.

She followed suit. Who knew if this might cure them. It would be a breakthrough!

Her womanhood began to drip, and she had a strange urge to rub there. Very strange. She ignored it and pushed faster still.

Something grabbed her from behind. Loial. His hand wrapped around her hips as easily as if it were a book. His other hand ripped the rubber from her, and she screamed as it rushed its way out of her audibly, like the sound made when running a nail across a corrugated surface.

She had no time to check if she was okay, for Loial held her by her sides—her arms hanging over his large hands—and lowered her onto his cock.

Light, she had hoped he'd heal without this. She'd hoped the rubber would be enough. That had been so hard to admit itself. "Loial, you've touched the rubber. Have you not overcome your fear of it?"

"I'm about to find out if it's done its work."

 _Done its work?_ "You mean overcome your f—"

Searing pain. He lowered her in one single motion, and now her weight was the force that balanced her atop his cock by her anus. And that anus was not holding. It expanded. Far more than it could the last time he'd tried, but this time... she could feel it coming. Just a little more and she would—

 _PFFFT_ went the air within her as it was forced out and replaced by Loial's dick. It mercilessly expanded her rectum, and it felt... it hurt but felt like those few times going to the toilet felt _good_.

Deeper he went until his length ran out, the bulge somewhere in the middle of her belly button and sternum. She had just begun to take a breath when he neighed, bringing a round of cheers from around the room, and pivoted her forward onto all fours. She was facing the rest of her patients, and found that the stroking men looked incredibly hungry. She'd need to keep food in futu— Loial grabbed her by one shoulder and _thrust_.

He _hit_ her sturnum. Again. And again. It felt like her insides were being used to push her forward. His rhythm increased and each time he pulled her by her shoulder and pushed into her, it knocked her breath out. She panted and sweated, gasped sometimes. Her loosening braid danced about her head and through the strands she found the men to look even hungrier. Several came and deposited their stress in her mouth, but she was too distracted by that 'good' feeling in her behind growing, like a flourishing bush that spread throughout her body despite the stretching, suffocating, and struggling. She was growing light headed as that bush began to flower and blossom, each sweet sweet sensation that made her think she must be secreting pollen from her pores. Light, she was losing her sight. The light was becoming as hard to see as the air was hard to breath. But that somehow intensified the blossoming, each now more like an explosion than a budding. That dripping in her womanhood returned and so did the urge to rub it. Massive hands beat her to it and the explosions became utter mind-numbing sensation. Her arms gave out and she felt coolness against her cheek, along with that thump thump thump from within her sternum until the the light turned black and all she could remember was the countless cocks—if those could be called cocks—that came after Loial. She remembered him tucking her into bed. Whispering in her ear that the sight-loss bug had been cured, and so had his fear of the rubber—though he might need to be reassured now and then.

She had nodded. Yes, she remembered. She had nodded eagerly.

There was no reason for the eagerness. There was something wrong with her. She really needed to stop sexualising these poor men. But she could worry about that tomorrow. For now, her brain was oxygen starved and needed sleep. She faded with a medical diagram in her mind of how his cock could possibly have fit inside her.


	5. Hear her bark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ailments can sometimes be animalistic, but Healing is always painfully human

“I have this fear of walking my dog,” a short man with a pouch for a belly walked in and said. He was balding, and wore his clothes like a rash covered dog wore its chewed-up coat. He held an equally shabby leather dog collar in his hand that looked like several generations of dogs had used it already. “My wife says it and myself need the exercise, but I just can’t bring myself to commit to it. I think it might be a fear.”

“Huh?” Nynaeve said, mouth popping off another man’s spit covered dick. It was still the middle of the working day, so she of course was on her knees in the middle of her lounge administering the necessary post-treatment stress relief to the fifty or so morning patients.

Those patients crowded closer to her as the fat man distracted her. The closest dicks pushed against her head, so she took those in her hand and stroked them.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir— _Glug_ ”

The man whose penis was still connected to her mouth by her spit pulled her face in and began to thrust.

Oh bother. She continued her service and tried to talk around his length. She’d become quite proficient at that anyway.

“Wym sowy, sir—glurg—ba are wu sure your’ nor jus’—glurg; cough; glurrrrg—lazy?”

“I’m a very hard worker,” Fatty said as someone groaned behind her. She quickly turned, wrapped her lips around them, and swallowed their creamy seed, making sure to pump it all out and suck it all in. This one tasted kind of good--well good for something made in the pot of a man's testacles. She massaged those, swallowing, swallowing as he bucked. She was already full and feeling squeamish, tummy rounding and heavy with seed. It was close to time for her purge.

"Was that good?" she asked him, voice inflecting up at the end. For some reason, speaking in that weird, brain dead voice during or after treatment relieved even more stress. "Oh, very good? Oh you like that, huh? Make sure to come for your next check up soon. I'll be waiting for you. On. My. Knees--" 

Her unfinished patient grabbed her head and pulled it back yet again. The _ug ug ug ug_ in her throat resumed, her braid slapping against her bare back.

“I swear to you,” fatty said. “I work very hard. I’m just really scared of walking my dog, and I heard that you are great at dealing with people’s fears.”

Nynaeve sighed—if it could be called that with her nose buried in a smelly crotch of pubes like coir. Fatty was right, though; she’d become somewhat of an expert with fear. Loial was a perfect example. He still sought reassurance within her rear now and then, but for the most part, his fear of that rubber was gone. She just hoped that he never developed any of the ailments that required her vagina. Just the thought of trying to admit him in there gave her the shivers. Perhaps by time she was village Wisdom, it would be more feasible of a prospect, but for now, she could only hope for his good health.

“Wokay,” Nynaeve said. “You’ll ha ta wait till the end of this seshion, ba I’ll—cloc-oc _cloc_ -oc—“

Her patient shoved her face into his groin and held it there, squirt squirt squirting into her throat. He was so far down, she didn’t even have to swallow. He pulled out of her with that same ‘clock’-like sound and looked properly satisfied. That was how she knew her healing was done.

She pulled the guy her right hand stroked into her mouth. He hovered there rather than using her. Oh yes, this one preferred her tongue and lips. It was so hard to keep track of them all.

“I will take a look at you after this session.” She licked round and under, expertly scraping and flicking stress-relief points. “Gather round in the mean time— _lick lick_ —I’ll handle your stress now while I’m down here.”

“No no,” he said, flushing. She had no idea why, because she’d sucked him before. In fact, she was fairly certain he’d had ailments that required her front and rear, too. She’d have to check his file to be sure though. “I think this is all that needs to be dealt with.” He held up the collar.

Fool man. Honestly, you’d think some of _them_ were the doctors, the way they spoke as if they knew better than her what they needed. It didn’t matter that their ailments usually were cured when she’d performed the ministrations they suggested.

The Women’s Circle kept insisting that was awfully convenient, but old fools like them didn’t understand coincidence, always attaching meaning and superstition where there was none.

 _Glock!_ she choked as the driven-to-relief penis finally decided to give her tongue a break and slide to the back. She lowered her chest and straightened her neck, but this cock was not long enough to require that. The position allowed his ejaculation to arch in easily, tickling her upper palate before falling to the back of her tongue and air pipe.

 _Damn it!_ She hated when this happened. She went into a coughing fit, trying to swallow so the semen didn’t go down the wrong pipe. A little did everyday, but she was getting better at estimating the best position based on length. If she didn’t prepare for the long ones, they still forced their way down and by the end of the day, with all the cocks she admitted, she had no voice left. Which made her incapable of telling the night shift group when their session was over, which made for a very tired and _sore_ Nynaeve the following day.

When the coughing fit eased, she found that Fatty was closing the filthy old dog collar’s buckle. Around _her_ neck.

“Hey!” she scolded. “I’m not done here ye—”

Fatty latched the buckle and yanked the chain, causing Nynaeve to choke for a different reason. She fell over onto all fours as he dragged.

“Stop!” She tried to resist and only got yanked again. “Wait! I still have patients!”

Those patients watched, stroking themselves. Even the ones who she’d already relieved. Had she not serviced them well enough? She had to work harder.

Another tug saw her slip and fall onto her chest. She got dragged several feet across the floorboards before getting her hands beneath her. The man walked towards her front door.

She was _not_ done in here yet. She grabbed the chain and yanked back, surprising Fatty, who came up to her and planted a kick right up into her belly.

She spat, winded, and doubled over, involuntarily purging her cum-filled stomach all over her floors. It was like the pain of admitting Loial, but a hundred times worse, and in her vital organs rather than her ass. She rolled, kicking, grinding her teeth to distract from the _pain_.

Slimy fluid dropped upon her from all directions, and she was dragged again. Parts of her skin slipped on the fresh semen, others made rubbery sounds as her aged floorboards gave her carpet burns. Still, that pain paled in comparison.

She was starting to see why this man feared walking his dog. If she had the pain tolerance, teeth, and temperament of one, she’d give him something to fear for treating her this way, for dragging her and choking her. But she was a professional. She could see his problem, when a dog could not.

It wasn’t fear, but another ailment she’d been keeping a close eye on. Most men she treated had it to some degree, but this man was the only one so far who truly suffered from it. She called it Powerlack. It was a simple ailment, and usually developed when the females in a man’s life had more ball-hormone than him.

Unfortunate that so many men were wool-headed idiots. Instead of growing a pair, they usually acted out. Most Healers would tell them to grow said pair, but Nynaeve had been thinking of a more mature way of dealing with this ailment. What if she showed them that power was silly and pointless to begin with? That, of course, would be achieved by giving them that power over her to use as they pleased. They definitely see its pointlessness in a flash. Easy.

She grabbed her collar, which was currently trying to hang her horizontally, and used it as leverage to flop over onto her belly.

Ouch. Her bruising mid-section surged with pain as it hit and was dragged across the gravel outside. She fought through it and got up onto all fours.

“Good _girl_ ,” Fatty said, beaming. He whistled. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Sure,” she said.

“Don’t you mean, ‘woof’?”

These men and their self-determined treatments… But she had to hand over the power, so she shrugged and barked like a dog. “Woof.”

“My dog is also that unenthusiastic…” he pouted.

_Can’t you get anything right the first time, Nynaeve al’Meara?_

“Woof!” she said. “Woof woof.”

His shoulders slumped and he started tugging roughly again as he pulled them along. Was that _still_ not good enough?

She stuck her tongue out and panted loudly, pointedly ignoring the villagers staring wide-eyed at her.

“Arf.” She awkwardly tried to walk up to him as fast as a dog would. There, she panted, tongue out, and looked up at him like a dog who loved their owner would. “Arf!”

He beamed again. “You look thirsty—oh look! A puddle.” He began to run.

Try as she might, she could not keep up on all fours. She fell multiple times, but she kept that enthusiastic expression on her face, tongue hanging.

“There you go girl!” He stood within chain’s-length of a muddy puddle of water on the side of the road.

 _Really?_ Could he not see that this was an exercise?

Light-blinded men.

She did it. Crawled up to the puddle of swirling brown water and stuck her tongue into it.

“Don’t dogs drink faster?” he asked. “Happy dogs always drink so fast.”

She lapped the water. Nothing came up to her mouth except the grains of sand that stuck to her tongue.

“I said drink! Bad dog!”

A boot slammed into her crown and her face got buried into thick mud. He ground his foot, and she coughed over and over again. Light, she was going to lose her voice today anyway, throating or not!

Give him the power. He will see—

Heavy fingers grabbed a handful of hair and nearly pulled them out by the roots as they lifted her head. She gasped for air, wiping mud off her face, holding in her rage.

 _Give up the power._ It was the only way. Good people would see power for what it was and abandon it before it corrupted them. People were good deep down. She just had to give them the chance.

The filthy water cleared from her eyes and she found herself surrounded by the men who had been waiting for their relief when Fatty interrupted.

“Up,” Fatty said.

Huh? Was she supposed to stand? _Give up the power. He will see._

She began to ris—

“Bad dog!” He kicked her right in the bruise on her tummy.

She cried out, doubling over, face in cold water, purging even more semen from her guts than she planned to expel today. But the pain. Her legs kicked behind her so hard she hurt her toes.

“On your _knees_ ,” Fatty said.

_Power… give… it up._

She forced herself up. Onto her knees. Looked up at her ‘owner’. Stuck her tongue out. Panted profusely. And put an expression on her face that was so enthusiastic, it perfectly contrasted the excruciating pain she felt inside.

“That's better!” He looked at the men all around her, pointing. “Isn’t she a good girl?”

“She’d be a good little bitch,” one of the others said, “If she brought her hands up like a good dog does when sitting on their haunches.”

“Yes!” Fatty said.

Nynaeve raised her arms immediately. The tops of her wrists pushed against her breasts, and her hands hung forward limply in what she thought looked just like a dog’s paws. The fingers looked off, so, before Fatty got any bad impulses, she curled her fingers in, making her hands look more paw-like.

On her knees like that, panting happily with her tongue out, she actually began to _feel_ dog-like. That allowed her to slip into the roll better and the results were immediate. Fatty began to smile like a boy whose dog finally came to him when he called instead of going to someone else.

It was working!

She pressed her breasts up with the wrists of her paws; leaned a little forward, making sure her heavy breaths were audible; then ‘wagged’ her tailbone. It was actually an awkward—and embarrassing—side to side motion of her hips, but Fatty’s jaw dropped. When she sped up, licked her wrist, pawed her face, and looked up at her owner with big puppy dog eyes, a dark spot formed at his crotch. Before the spot grew, he whipped his cock out and sprayed her wagging body from tits to face.

 _He came in his pants?_ Nynaeve thought, grimacing. _To this dog act?_ No. That was not simply semen. It was his stress. His ailment, bleeding out of him. _Yes, give it to me._ She remained in form, catching a whole bunch on her tongue. _I'll take it all from you._ "Arf!" She barked hungrily for more. "Arf arf!"

She got his dick between her lips. Her bosom and paws bounced against his knees as he gave his puppy girl the loving affection he should have from the start. _Glurg!_ She choked, wiggling her tushy for her master. Cloc-og. Clog-og! Glug-ug-ug- _ugk-UGK_! Her spit leaked down her chin in bubbling globs, and flew sideways as she shook her head side to side. He used her throat like a bitch and drilled her brain until he came again immediately. It was the most resilient second round of ejaculation she'd ever seen. He yanked her away by her braid and dressed her little curled up paws in hot creamy stress. There was just _so_ much. It seeped between her fingers and onto her spittled nipples.

It was finally all out of him. That fact was evident on his face. It fell from euphoric-relief to disgust. The kind of look she imagined she had on her face when she had come home after her first multiple-orgasm, and then masturbated _again_. He was disappointed in himself and his obsession with power, and had now seen the light.

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping the chain and covering his crotch. “I get these urges. I don’t know why. I keep thinking that since you’d do nearly anything, I should think up my most deepest fantasies before you change your mind about this whole arrangm—”

“Shut up!” another man snapped.

“Hush,” Nynaeve said. “You don’t need to make excuses. I know your true ailment and have treated it. You’ll find that you’re cured.”

He raised a brow at her.

“You don’t expect me to believe,” Nynaeve said, “that urges are the reason you’ve done this? No man is so weak that he can’t control his sexual fantasies. Who would even have a fantasy of a girl behaving like a puppy?”

Oddly enough, she was still leaning forward with her hands up and tailbone wagging. She’d not realised how deeply into the role she’d gone. It actually felt kind of nice, to surrender... Rather not break out of it yet. That would just distract them.

So she kept wagging and panting. “With me," she said, pressing paw to bosom, "you’re going to need better excuses than uncontrolled lust—”

Something slid right up into her wagging ass and her moan came out like a bitch-like squeal.

“You’re right,” the man said, _THRUST_ ing so hard their skin slapped together. “We don’t know better than you.” He pulled her back against his chest by her braid, and her spine arched painfully as he turned her face to his and pressed their lips together.

Her eyes widened, and she felt a fire in her chest rather than her loins. That fire saw her eyes fall shut and her lips melt to his.

“That’s why we come to you,” he said, thrusting, kissing.

“Mmm,” she couldn’t help but say.

“That’s why we trust no one but you.”

“Mhm.” She was like a dog made putty by her owners pets

His tongue slipped into her mouth and she began to shake and shiver. He had to wrap his arms around her to keep her from falling over as he fucked her mind into oblivion. She had to focus, she was the doctor. The one administering.

Light what was that crushing, burning sensation in her chest, ten-fold stronger than her greatest orgasm. What was different but those lips meshed with hers? It was the greatest, most intense thing she’d felt in her life.

“That’s why,” he said with finality, “ _Nynaeve the Healer_ is known far and wide; loved,”—she was loved?—“looked up to,”—her work was recognised by others?—“and respected by all with the pleasure of knowing her name.”

She was respected?

The kiss was not what gave her the greatest, most intense feeling in her chest. The sound of those words made her chest churn far more, with ache she didn’t even know was there. Ache that had been buried beneath all the care she gave to the ailments of others.

She knew the Woman’s Circle looked down on her methods. She might even know that some of the men did, too. And if she was completely honest with herself, she might even know that there was something… special about her Healing that was not quite related to her herbs or practice. But those words made it all crumble away to reveal the broken structure beneath that just wanted her village to respect her. Her Wisdom to respect her. She done so much. Worked so hard. Tried harder and harder to prove herself.

And she’d finally done it. The respect might come from outsiders, but it felt like her first step forward in her entire life. A new wetness formed on her cheeks.

 _I’m crying,_ she realised. She was crying and _fucking_ the man back, ass cheeks bouncing against him as _she_ thrust. This was not her administering treatment, but... trying to be intimate. What was she doing? Who was this man?

Others were fucking her still-doggy-like hands, and the one behind her breathed hot breaths onto her parted lips as he finished within her. He fondly rubbed her bottom, gave it a pat, and pulled out.

And just like that, she lost sight of him in the crowd that collapsed onto her, having only seen that he wore a strange braided headband on a face of stone with chilling blue eyes.

His words. That voice. She had to hear it again.

She turned to crawl out the direction he’d gone, but was pulled back in and taken by cocks that did nothing for her. Nothing like what he had done. She could not chase—for abandoning her responsibility to these men would nullify his precious words—but she could squeeze out a question between all the panting, barking, and sucking she was made to do.

“Dosh anyone kno’ hee’s nayme?”

The grunts and groans around her drowned out most words spoken, and she felt she might cry once more. But in the chaos, one sound stood out. “Lan.”

Just the sound of his name drove her to orgasm.

***

Nynaeve al’Meara, driven by those words like a wind in her back became the youngest village wisdom Emond’s Field had ever known. On the day she’d men _him,_ she’d decided to put her practice on hold—much to the disappointment of her patients, especially Mr al’Vere and Loial—to seek out the White Tower and harness what made her special. That way, she could Heal ailments the first time without any trial and error. Minimise suffering and truly become Nynaeve the Healer, the greatest practitioner to ever live.

A few months in Tar Valon, and she’d gotten a hard wakeup call. Not even the girls could control their lust, even when they had no feelings for each other. She’d been wrong. _So_ wrong, in fact, that she did not let herself think on the things she’d… did not think on it.

The only one time she did was when she’d returned home to her Women’s Circle. She’d admitted her fault and naivety, and was received with open arms. Wisdom Doral Barran said the same determination that made her unstoppable in ignorance was the very same determination that would make her great as Wisdom.

No one spoke of Nynaeve the Healer's prior... ministrations again, save for whispers on the wind. Those were dismissed by most as impossible.

“Too good to be true,” they said.

“No Healer so great could ever be that naïve.”

Even the men themselves began to doubt, and carried themselves with dignity around their new Wisdom.

Only one man knew the truth for what it was, for he was the only one she trusted now, for he was the reason she’d woken up. She clutched the ring she wore between her breasts. A promise, he’d called it when giving it to her. A promise that one day, the greatest Wisdom and Healer known to man would be known as al’Nynaeve ti al’Meara Mandragoran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed, comment and kudos. It makes my day :)
> 
> I'll be finishing my other stories in their next volumes, and then, retiring from fanfiction. I really love writing these stories, and wish it were feasible to continue, but I'm incapable of preventing myself from giving too much time to it. It's just so easy to escape the politics, and come here and be free to write something that's a fuck you to all of that. I struggle in my own writing often, looking at stuff I've spent months on and knowing that it's been unintentionally affected by politics and my fear of being cancelled. It's a cage I have to break free from, and I think I can only do that if I don't have this outlet.
> 
> Idk. I will have to see how I feel over the next few weeks. Will keep you posted

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy a fanfic, please leave a comment and kudos. It will make the author's day, and make this all worth their time


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